John Doe
by Mynerva
Summary: John Doe is a smooth talking, handsome man with skills not many people in Montana have seen. His identity is a mystery to the kind people who found him near death in the woods, but also to himself. Can he discover the truth of his past before a greedy businessman can drive his new friends from their home? No pairings. T for language.
1. Chapter 1

Cold, wet and hurting. None of those helped him on his sprint through the forest. The thick body-warmer was not living up to its name, and the rest of his clothes done little to assist. It didn't help he was soaked to the bone, though how he came to be in this state eluded him. Strangely, he couldn't remember much else either. All he knew was that he was being chased and he had to get away. Away from who, was another question he didn't have an answer for, but the fear was enough to drive him. The smear of blood that had spilled down his plaid shirt was an indication of the danger he was in, and the pain emanating from the left side of his head was another. Clearly he had taken some kind of knock and the resulting confusion was a symptom of that injury.

He was so preoccupied he didn't realise his feet were starting to drag, fatigued from a cross country marathon he had no idea how long he'd been in. His left foot caught one of many protruding roots and down he went, tumbling into the ground beside a colossal evergreen. A yelp escaped his lips as another previously unrecognised injury came to light. His chest burned with the angry protests of a few bruised ribs and a protective hand proceeded to nurse them, dropping the gun he had been carrying.

Was that his gun? He thought to himself as he stared at the silver gleam of the metal, an appreciative eye, marvelling at the carving of the wooden grip. It must be if he had it, but, why would he need a gun? With a grunt he sat himself upright, back against the tree so he could check behind him as well as ahead. He was on the run from someone and hurt; maybe he had been expecting some kind of attack and had the gun on him as protection?

Now his chest had eased, the man picked up the weapon and felt a sense of relief he wasn't expecting. It was like having an old friend returned to him. He blinked at the gun and instinctively checked how many rounds he had, surprising himself further by handling the weapon so well. Who was he? Why was he here? And what sort of trouble had he stumbled into?

The confused man ran a hand through his hair; it was long but with short back and sides. Tidy and styled, or had been till he'd legged it. He was trying to right the doo when he felt it, a sharp pain at the left side of his head just above the ear. He winced as he used his fingertips to probe the injury, feeling them become sticky with dry blood. The wound wasn't fresh, he'd had this for about an hour and while it hurt like hell, he knew it wasn't life threatening.

He wished he could remember what he was running from and he wished he could remember more about who he was, but more than that, he wished he could get warm. The adrenaline was wearing off and now started to feel just how cold he was. His teeth clashed together as his shivers grew more violent and every bump and bruise ached as the vibrations shook his body. It was also getting dark and he knew if he didn't find shelter soon, he was going to die.

* * *

Colonel John 'Hannibal' Smith stood before the desk of their current client, cigar past the halfway mark while steel-blue eyes bored into those of Luther Clydesdale.

Clydesdale had hired the A-Team a week ago to help protect his lumber business from a rival firm, who was logging illegally in the area and mounting attacks on workers and their families. Of course they'd done the usual checks to not only make sure that Decker hadn't set this whole meet up as a plot to capture the team, but also to make sure who they were working for, was being straight. As always, that latter task fell to Face, as apart from being an expert in deceiving others, he was incredibly difficult to deceive because of it. As it turned out though, Face hadn't reported in, making the colonel uneasy.

"So you're telling me," Hannibal began after listening to Clydesdale's answer. "Face didn't arrive?"

"That's right, colonel. We've been expecting him all morning. We've also been expecting a shipment of fuel for the saws, but had nothing all day, I was actually about to call you guys, I figured they'd been some delay." Clydesdale stood and crossed to the filling cabinet attending to what ever business he had been prior to their arrival. Hannibal looked to B.A who glared suspiciously back at their client and a large part of the colonel felt some-what the same.

"You said during you're interview, that this other company would hi-jack your fuel orders?" He continued the questioning, if Face had been some how caught up in the initial jacking of the fuel, it would explain his absence now.

"Yeah, McGregor's men don't exactly play fair. I sent some guys out to investigate along the route." The foreman paused, seeming to look out of the window. "They're back now." Clydesdale led the way out, Hannibal and B.A following eager to discover what had happened. The two men whom had just returned looked cold and dirty, largely down to the environment. Montana was probably one of the last great wildernesses, the work was hard and the days were long and cold and every man here was suited to it. These men were no different. Hannibal sized them up, both were at least two-hundred pounds and so tall they made B.A look tiny. "So did you find anything?" Clydesdale asked.

"Yeah, we spotted truck tracks leading off to the east right off the trail and some fancy looking car, all beat up wrapped around a tree in a ditch. We looked for the driver but we couldn't see anyone." Hannibal's heart fell into his stomach and he and B.A were moving towards the van before anyone could even question why.

"What's going on, colonel?" Murdock who had been waiting with the van as instructed seemed to sense there was a problem. They had been together a long time and knew each other well to know when something wasn't quite right.

"Trouble, according to Clydesdale Face didn't show up this morning." Hannibal explained as he hopped into the passenger side while Murdock and B.A took up their usual positions.

"Well that's just crazy talk, Face called me from his car, he said he was about to pull into the yard and that was four hours ago."

"Do you think he got lost?" B.A asked as he shifted the van into gear and started to reverse out into the main road.

"Not a chance," Hannibal put out his cigar, placing the rest in his breast pocket for later. "Face is too thorough and wouldn't make a rookie mistake like that. Something's happened and something bad if his car's ended up in a ditch."

"Face loves that car," Murdock stated, his tone full of concern, but his dark brown eyes quickly hardened their gaze. "If someone's hurt my muchacho, I won't be responsible for my actions, colonel."

"Easy, captain. Face can handle himself. I'd be more worried about the ones responsible for the damage to the Corvette; the lieutenant is likely to kill them." It wasn't easy for Hannibal to joke in a situation like this, when the safety of his men was in question like any leader he felt solely responsible to get them back home in one piece. It was a burden he carried in Vietnam and now, when they were on the run. They were his team, his boys, and his friends. But he kept those thoughts and feelings to himself because he also had a responsibility to keep the team functional in times of danger and the last thing he needed was for Murdock to loose it. It seemed to have done the trick as Murdock settled a little, making jokes of his own and going into great detail the lengths he would go, to help Face seek revenge for the damage done to his precious automobile.

By the time they reached the crash site, the weather had taken a turn for the worst. The rain was coming down in spades and dark grey clouds swirled about skies filled with the promise of thunder.

The three members of the team stood there, looking down at the white Corvette, knots in their stomachs. The car had left the road and continued at least eight foot into the ditch before colliding with tree. The front of the car was crumpled but it looked to be mostly cosmetic damage. It was definitely a crash Face could walk away from, but what had them seething, was the fact that what they were looking at, didn't tally with what they had been told.

For a start, the Corvette left the road while on its way back from Clydesdale's yard and all along the right side; the body work was dented and scrapped. Face had been run off the road.

"This is wrong." B.A growled as Murdock began to pace, trying to peer into the forest that stretched out below them.

"Easy B.A," Hannibal soothed as he surveyed the scene before taking the first careful steps into the ditch. "Let's get a closer look, see if we can figure out the facts and hopefully track down where Face might be now. He could be hurt."

"I don't see him anywhere." Murdock chimed in as he gracefully skidded through the wet mud to stand beside the drivers side of the battered car. "There's boot prints, lots of prints, more than one set." The pilot was twisting and turning, gazing down as he tracked the trails. "They're too big to be Faceman's…" Murdock continued to track the prints while B.A got into the drivers seat.

"The seat's too far back, man. No way could Face drive it like this Hannibal. This car's been dumped." Hannibal kept his cool as he got into the passenger side and started searching the glove box and the rest of the dash. The gun Face kept there was gone and while his wallet was there, it was empty of cash and all the credit cards he had under various names. To the untrained eye, it looked like a robbery but if that was the case, the most expensive booty from a car jacking was the car itself, especially a sports car.

"No way would car jackers deliberately wreck a prize like this." The colonel mused looking up as Murdock was now a few yards ahead, still tracking the many boot prints, trying to determine where they led.

"Could just be punks, out for a joy ride." B.A surmised but the colonel couldn't agree.

"I don't think so," he held up the empty wallet drawing B.A's attention to the missing cards. "Kids wouldn't take the cards. Without the pin, it's a pretty worthless find for teens. Not to mention the seats being all the way back and the size of the boot prints. I'll put good money on the fact that Face isn't anywhere near where we are now; the car's a false trail, which means who ever ambushed Face, wants to not only make the kid disappear, but throw us off the scent."

"So what are we waiting for, let's find those fools and pound them into the ground." The poetic flow of B.A's words made Hannibal smile, mainly because he wanted to do exactly that but as Murdock threw up his arms in defeat, he realised they were going to need more time to piece together Face's final steps. The colonel's smile faded and he mentally chastised himself for even thinking of that turn of phrase.

"Clydesdale said Face didn't turn up at his office this morning like he was supposed to." The colonel began as he exited the trashed Corvette.

"I say he's lying." B.A growled as Murdock came jogging back from where he'd be searching.

"I hear you B.A but until we've got evidence to prove that, we're gonna need to stay close to that guy because if he is lying, it's only a matter of time before he leads us to Face."

"What if Face doesn't have much time, colonel?" Murdock asked hands buried deep into jacket pockets. It wasn't often the pilot let this vulnerable side show, reserved only for those occasions when the eccentric man felt helpless to assist another on the team. Recognising that his man needed some reassurance, the colonel placed a steadying hand on Murdock's shoulder and gave a squeeze, being sure to meet those worry-filled brown eyes.

"I have every faith that Face will be ok, Murdock. No matter what kind of trouble the kids gotten himself into over the years, he's always managed to land on his feet." Hannibal offered a confident smile seeing Murdock nod a few times.

"You're right, colonel. You know that always landing on ones feet is a trait of the feline variety right?"

"Right…" Hannibal let his hand fall back to his side. The fact that Murdock had began to vocalise his often irrational train of thoughts meant he was feeling a little better about the situation at least.

"Well I think we should be looking into Face's pants for a tail or something because so far his hair does a wonderful job of hiding those ears and I know cos I've looked. And now I'm starting to realise why Billy gets so riled up anytime Face comes into my room…"

"What you talking about, fool? Face ain't no cat!"

"And I happen to think that B.A is some kind of dog, what with all the barking he tends to do." At that Murdock stood on his tip-toes and started to pat down B.A's head, much to the annoyance of the muscle man. "But credit to you big guy, you've done a fabulous job of hiding your ears!"

"Get away from me fool, before your crazy gets on me!"

"Let's go guys," Hannibal ordered leading the way back to the van. They would have to head into town and get a tow-truck out to pick up the Corvette as well as pick up the supplies. Something was telling Hannibal that they would be here a while yet and he was already running scenarios in his mind trying to come up with a plan for every possibility. No matter what he saw, each one ended with Face back on the team, fighting the bad guys along side them because the colonel refused to accept any other alternative.


	2. Chapter 2

The sound of metal clashing drew the sleeping man from his dreams. As the vivid images withdrew, the blanket of dark slowly lifted to reveal a small cosy bedroom. The man sighed as he relished the sensation of warmth and was loathe to leave the confines of the bed but the clashing seemed louder, which meant what ever it was, was closer.

He wasn't sure why he felt the need to hide, but before he could convince himself he was being foolish, the young man had slipped silently behind the door just as it opened. He held his breath as the figure walked in carrying a tray with food upon it. The figure was tall, slim with messy brunette hair, tied securely in a bun. The woman paused upon seeing the empty bed and proceeded to put down the tray giving her patient the room he needed to slip past and through the door. Without pausing for a second he closed the door on her before she'd even turned.

"Hey!" He heard her call out as he turned the key in the lock and with a triumphant smile he headed towards the stairs.

"Afternoon," the voice was calm, belonging to that of a man, a surprised man in his early fifties, with ragy white hair and matching beard. He seemed to study the younger man with a suspicious but sympathetic eye and beyond his initial greeting, seemed at a loss for what else to say.

The two men regarded each other, the older man scrubbing the back of his head in a kind of nervous fashion, while the younger man shuffled from barefoot to barefoot, all the time the woman whom he had locked in the bedroom, banging upon the door calling to be let out.

"I see you met Andy," the older man said after a while. "You're not the first guy to want to lock her up like that either." It was obviously a joke, one lost on the poor woman who ceased her pounding.

"I heard that Dad!" She cried followed by more pummelling on the door.

"That's me never hearing the end of it," the man chuckled and stepped aside while his nervous house guest tried to get by. "Oh if you're well enough to leave, son, you might wanna get some clothes on first, it's a little cold out side."

Looking down at himself, he realised he was as naked as the day he was born. In his efforts to cover up the young man stumbled and proceeded to fall down the first flight of stairs, his bare back connecting with all the hard wooden edges before coming to a stop at the midway point, thankfully stopping himself from rolling down the rest.

He groaned as he attempted to right himself but was quickly set back to stillness by a cold hand on his shoulder.

"Don't move!" Andy ordered, her pale green eyes gauging her patients condition. "Did you hit your head again?"

"I don't think so…" he responded automatically and winced when her small but strong hands probed his bare chest.

"Did that hurt?"

"No, your hands are cold." Andy glared down at her patient before waving up at her father who threw down a robe.

"Now, I want you to get back up there and into bed. I don't know what happened to you, but you're in no condition to go charging off, not until I've looked you over."

"I'm not sure there's any more of me for you to see." He joked as he was helped back to his feet by the father and daughter pair. The dad seemed to appreciate the humour, while Andy scowled at them both.

"You know what I mean!" Andy floundered, a flush of colour in her cheeks which the forgetful man had to admit, seemed very cute. After a few minutes he was once again on the bed, the bruises and bumps, new and old all protesting vigorously. "Dad could you get my bag from down stairs please?" Andy asked seeing her father nod and leave to fetch the required item. "Follow my finger." He done as she asked, getting the impression she knew exactly what she was doing.

"You're a doctor?"

"I am. Dr McGregor." She leaned in closer to inspect the gash to his head, satisfied there was no new damage to the older wound. "You're turn. What's your name?"

If he was honest he had been hoping she would know this already. The pair seemed so intent on helping him he just assumed they knew him.

"I uh… I'm not sure."

"Look if you're in trouble with the law, I could care less. Actually it would mean you were someone I could trust." She sighed and shook her head.

"No, I mean it. I have no idea who… or where I am. I don't even remember getting here." He indicated his surroundings, wincing when the motion caused his chest to stab with pain.

"Well, that's hardly a surprise since you were unconscious when my brothers brought you here." She regarded him with a quizzical look. "You didn't have any ID on you but…you did have a gun."

"Where is it?"

"I put it away. It…it's been fired recently." Andy looked a little cautious now as she was reminded of the potential danger she was in.

"I won't hurt you…" he began but the young doctor quickly shook her head.

"No offence, mister but I don't know that do I? And if you don't even remember yourself, how do you know you wouldn't hurt me?"

That was a very good question. "You don't think I could have… hurt anyone, do you?"

"Who knows? This place has plenty of low-lives." Her father entered at that moment with an old doctors bag which she quickly took, clearly thankful for the distraction. "Look all I want to do is get you back on your feet and shipped off to the nearest hospital. The only reason you're not there now is because of this storm, it's too dangerous to call in a helicopter." He watched as she loaded a hyperaemic with something and he naturally felt a little nervous. "Relax it's just a tetanus shot…" She regarded him for a moment before sticking the needle deftly into the right side of his hip. "So what do we call you? It's not like I can just go around saying "hey you"."

"What do you usually call patients who don't know their own name?" He tried not to flinch when she stabbed him, he might have forgotten who he was exactly, but he knew he still wanted to impress this girl with his machismo. He was a man after all and memory of self had nothing to do with instincts.

"John Doe."

"John huh?"

"Doe. John Doe." Andy clarified having mistook his question as a mispronunciation of her given name for him. He just blinked back at the attractive doctor and smiled.

"I guess it will have to do." 'John' sighed and sat himself up, not content with simply laying about. The entire situation had him anxious and rightly so. How often did one wake up with no recollection of who one was? It was a serious question because, he didn't know.

* * *

After a day of nothing but bed rest, John Doe was getting very irritated. He had been locked away in the McGregor's house with nothing to do but sleep and think. When he wasn't thinking, his sleep was plagued with vivid images that he knew should be familiar, but the meaning continued to elude him.

Andy had said that amnesia wasn't something she could help him with, there was nothing in her little, black doctors bag that would help him to regain everything he had lost. He needed to give himself time and if he was lucky, his mind would recover and his memory would return. If it didn't? Well, he hadn't been able to vocalise that particular question, so during his waking hours, he would think about that possible scenario. He could go to the authorities and ask them for help, but considering the events following his memory loss, he some how sensed that wouldn't be in his best interests and had managed to convince Andy not to get the law involved. She'd even relented and agreed not to send him to the main hospital in the city.

John wasn't exactly sure how he'd managed to talk her out of that as she had been fairly insistent he get the proper care, rather than the little she had been able to offer. For her every argument, he had another to counter it and when he didn't, compliments flowed from his lips as if he'd uttered them a hundred times before, to a hundred different women. Andy might be fiercely independent and confident, but she was still a women and it seemed he had a knack for getting them to see his way of thinking, thanks largely to how he looked.

Once the swelling and bruising had settled, beginning its retreat as the healing process began; John examined himself in a mirror on the wall of the little bedroom that had become his home. He was quite a handsome man, with light brown hair, that had natural blond highlights from being bleached in a warmer sun not currently found in his current climate of Montana. His skin was a healthy golden tan, something else that confirmed he wasn't local. He had a very strong jaw, a pair of pale blue eyes all topped off by one perfect smile complete with original teeth.

John had to wonder, the stranger staring back at him through the mirror was very different to the kind of man usually looking for work in Montana, what had he come here for?

He gazed a little longer at the slender build of the man in the mirror and apart from the large black and blue bruising around his left side, his body was sporadically scarred having suffered injuries he had no memory of. His body was a canvas of lines and marks, but no colour or tone of recollection. It was frustrating.

In that moment of defeat, as John was starred down by the strange man before him there was a quiet rapping upon the bedroom door and so, gathering up the robe to pull back around his unfamiliar body, he bid the person enter. He knew it would be Andy, he'd heard her come home a half hour ago. She worked out of a small clinic some where close by, being the only doctor for miles and for many of the working men in the area; he guessed she was a busy woman. Still, despite her schedule, she came home during lunch to make sure he had some too.

John gave her his best smile as he stepped away from the mirror and sat on the bed as she set the bowl of soup and home made bread roll out on the table beside him.

"Admiring yourself." She asked with a smile, assuming (and perhaps correctly) John was something of a vain man.

"Oh just grilling him for answers," he narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the mirror. "He's a tough one though, he won't talk."

"He will eventually, I'm sure of it." Andy handed him a napkin and sat on the chair across from the bed as John took hold of the bowl and spoon and began to eat. "It's only been a day, just give yourself a chance."

"I know," he nodded and put the bowl down so he could sit a little more comfortably, trying very hard not to pull at the sore bones in his chest. "But I don't think I'm a very patient person. Or at the very least, used to doing this much nothing."

"Well you've had a very traumatic experience. It's not like I can just let you rush back out there especially…" she paused as if debating whether or not to say what she had just been about to.

"What is it?"

"I had a visitor today at my clinic. Some cop, claimed to be from the next town over looking for someone. He had a picture of you."

"Someone was looking for me?" He felt his heart rate rise. The nightmare could well be over soon if someone he knew was looking for him, but the look in Andy's eyes had him wondering if it would be a happy ending. "Well… what did he say?"

"It's not what he said, it's what he didn't say and more importantly, where he came to look for you. My clinic, as if he knew you'd be hurt."

"He could be a concerned friend…"

"He also wouldn't disclose your name to me, just said you were a person of interest and I should call him if I see you." John felt the hopes that had been soaring, come crashing back down to earth with a thump. "Look I took his number," she handed over the scrap of paper and John took it with a slightly shaking hand. "I'll let you call him when you're ready, but I wasn't about to do that with out talking to you first. I just thought it was the best thing to do."

"I appreciate that Andy, really." He felt at a loss for words for the first time in…literally in as long as he could remember. "I have no idea how to thank you and your father. You've both been so kind."

Andy chuckled softly, her green eyes sparkling and John felt his stomach flip slightly. She really was very beautiful but carried herself like she had no clue. Her hair was again, tied back in a hastily erected up doo, with strands and wisps of the dark brunette shade floating around her perfectly symmetrical face. She didn't wear any makeup, as far as he could tell the blush in her rosy cheeks was natural and set off her flawless pale skin. There was a wrinkle here and there around her eyes, ones created by the laugher that had claimed her a moment ago.

"Don't be silly, we would do it for any body in trouble. So don't go thinking you're special or anything."

"Perish the thought." He grinned as she stood, gathering up the tray but leaving the bowl and other utensils.

"Eat up; I'll be back with your meds before I head back out. Then you're going to get some sleep." He tried very hard not to whine, but the sound left him before he could halt it. "Oh stop that, you sound like a child."

"I know." He sighed and gave her his best pleading look. "Is it working?"

"No." With that she left the room, leaving the handsome man to wallow.

* * *

There were times in his life when one day felt like an eternity to Murdock, and to counteract those instances, the universe took days away, often those were days in the VA hospital when he was alone without his friends.

When he was without his team, his days had no meaning, no drive, no life and he hated them. In those days H. M. Murdock didn't exist, he became like a cocoon of which the creature inside had taken flight to be some place better. In his mind he could see that some place, his mind would tap into that creature, taking flight and soaring over land and sea and he would exist there until he was called back to that empty husk of a body. Almost every time he regretted being pulled back, unless of course it was a call from Face telling him they were springing him from the VA. Those times, were the most exciting because he knew he was going to start living again, not merely existing and those days would be the most normal he would ever have. With purpose and a sense of belonging once again, Murdock poured heart and soul into the work they did as the A-Team. H. M. Murdock was alive and well on those days.

Today was one of those 'alive and well' days, despite the circumstances, no; in spite of them.

When any one member was missing, the team functioned like a dinning table with a leg missing, the van without a wheel, it could do the job, but there would be sparks and spilt milk, both of which annoyed B.A no end as his love of the van and milk were legendary.

The big guy stood close by Murdock as they patrolled the Clydesdale lumber yard watching for any trouble. They'd only been there a day and hadn't seen anyone attempting to sabotage production. The place didn't seem to be struggling for workers either and as Murdock watched the lumber jacks interact, none of them seemed worried. Unusual for a place supposedly under siege by a heartless rival firm. But it had only been a day, there was time enough for trouble to brew and if it did they would act, do the job they were being paid for.

"I don't like this." B.A announced suddenly, pulling Murdock from his people watching. "It's too quiet, you're too quiet. What happened to your jibber-jabber?"

"Well I'm just thinking, B.A. I'm just thinking that same thing actually. The jibber-jabber isn't as loud right now, the silence, the lack of violence, it bugs me."

"I hear that." His muscle bound friend turned and started to patrol in the opposite direction leaving Murdock watching the workers a moment before he jogged to catch the mud-sucker up.

"A whole day and no word from Face," he began to confide, knowing that was the reason he had been unusually quiet. "I'm worried, B.A, real worried…"

"Me too, but Hannibal is right. Faceman can look after himself."

"I know, I know but the last time we went this long without contact was back in Nam."

"Listen, Murdock. This isn't Vietnam. Face is gonna be alright." A heavy, hand fell onto the pilots shoulder and all Murdock could do was nod. He wished he had that kind of faith the colonel and B.A seemed to possess but when you lived in a mind as cluttered as his, it was easy to get swept away.

"Okay, big-guy. I'll take your word for it." At that moment the van pulled into the yard with Hannibal at the wheel. While Murdock and B.A kept watch at the yard, the colonel, while disguised as a local cop, had been scouting the area looking for any traces of their missing man. The way he got out of the van and started towards the pair, they knew he'd had little to no luck. "I just hope you're right…"

* * *

The pain killers had worn off and the dull ache radiating from the left side of his head and face pulled John from the oblivion that had been sleep. As bored and uneasy as he felt, he would have preferred to go back to that oblivion to be spared of the pain.

With a grunt, John eased himself into a sitting position, wincing as his chest joined in the chorus, singing in time with his head.

The room was much darker than it was before he settled down to sleep, leaving him wondering how long he'd been laying there. It only took him a moment to realise it wasn't just his head that had woke him; the urge to urinate was strong and demanded a speed he wasn't sure he was quite up to yet. Still, he grabbed the robe that was draped over the chair opposite the bed and slowly pulled it on, being sure to put his left arm in first to spare the injured ribs from being aggravated.

The bathroom was thankfully not too far and as he shuffled his way across the landing he could hear voices from below. The entire first floor looked down into a kitchen/dinning area and from his vantage point he could see three people sat around a small table. Without even realising he was doing it, John was committing to memory points of entry into the home. There was an open window right at the bottom of the stairs, and five paces to the left of that was a door that opened out onto a patio, beyond which he could make out a road and a parked truck, which was visible through another window that was another five paces left of the door. The kitchen was small but practical, knifes were on display in a wooden block, pans and pots hung from a metal rack above the centre island of counters. A large stone sink seemed to be bursting with pots that had been used to create the meal and awaiting cleaning, while an old fashioned wood burning stove sat pride of place in the centre of the kitchen, the heat of which could still be felt radiating from it.

Of the three people sat at the table only two of them he recognised. One was Andy, the other her father. The third occupant was a heavily built man, Caucasian with the same shade of brunette hair as Andy. She had mentioned she had brothers; this was likely one of them.

"John," Andy had called up having noticed he was awake and was waving for him to come down. He gave a some what shy smile and pointed to the bathroom door. She got the message and feeling a little on display he shuffled inside, still needing to empty his bladder.

Once he was done, and after washing his hands of course, John headed back out and down the stairs where the McGregor family waited. It seemed in the time it had took him to shuffle his way down, they had completed their meal and Andy was now clearing away the dishes. John's stomach however was very much empty, the lunch time soup had sated him five hours ago, but now it was empty once more. Mr McGregor was busy pouring over some papers that seemed to be receipts, an old hard back ledger book and calculator made up the rest of the clutter on the table. The older man was so focused on the numbers John's entrance had gone unnoticed.

"Take a seat, fella." The man John didn't recognise indicated the fourth seat and once the injured man was sat, only then did the McGregor lad hold out his hand to shake and introduce himself officially. "I'm Daniel, me and my brother Jack found you in the woods yesterday."

"Then it's you I have to thank." They shook hands amicably and while Daniel seemed friendly enough, there was an uncertainty in his eyes, like he didn't trust John just yet, which was understandable.

"Don't sweat it. Andy say's you don't remember who you are?"

John shrugged nonchalantly, the subject was a little embarrassing. "I don't," he met Daniel's eyes before continuing. "I don't suppose there was any clue as to what happened to me out there?"

"Not that I could see." Daniel picked at the last scraps of food on his plate causing John's stomach to growl a little louder. "Me and Jack called out a couple of times, just in case someone was with you but, no one called back. You were hurt pretty bad, we just wanted to get you to Andy alive so she could help you."

"I appreciate that…" John frowned down at his stomach wishing it would shut up, but when Andy set a plate down for him, loaded with chicken and potatoes, it renewed its demands. John smiled his thanks and started to dig in.

"But don't go mistaking our charitable nature as weakness," Daniel said in a low voice so his sister couldn't hear. "You hurt my sister or my pa' and me and my brother, will put you right back out there, six feet under." The threat was very real and John found himself swallowing a little thicker than the food in his mouth demanded.

"Now, Danny," Mr McGregor spoke up, his attention having diverted from the complex numbers and papers to his son. "There's no need for that."

"After all the trouble we've had from Clydesdale's goons, you can hardly blame me for being cautious." Daniel picked up his napkin and wiped his mouth, once again looking at their guest, who for the most part tried to seem as un-goon-like as possible.

"Let's leave talk of Clydesdale from the dinner table, Danny." Mr McGregor asked with a fond smile and John was reminded of someone for a brief moment. The memory was so fleeting it was gone before he realised he should hold on to it and no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't summon the memory that had surfaced just a second before. "Let's just, enjoy the food and the company."

"We can't just keep ignoring the problem, pop."

"I'm not ignoring the problem," Mr McGregor stood and walked stiffly towards a cabinet that housed a few glasses and some expensive looking liqueurs. "I would simply prefer to deal with these discussions during office hours." At that he poured himself a generous serving before offering some to John and Daniel, both of which eagerly accepted.

"Well I wish you would 'deal' with the paper work during those hours to, dad." Andy said as she sauntered back into the dinning area, scooping the glass of scotch from John's hand before he had been able to take a sip. Instead she sat with the glass, sipping it occasionally leaving her patient dry. Daniel and Mr McGregor both found this amusing but shrugged their condolences to their would be drinking buddy. "Honestly I'm getting tired of it being at the dinner table."

"Well I just can't seem to get it done back at the yard," McGregor sat back down sighing as he looked down at the array of paper, the numbers having defeated him for now.

"You might if you let me and Jack manage production." The brother and son shook his head and John got the impression this was a conversation that had happened all too often.

"You whipper-snappers just wanna see your old-man retire and fade away, well I'm sorry but I'm not ready to do that just yet."

"That's not it pa'." Father and son were growing more irritable, clearly it was a touchy subject and feeling awkward enough and not wanting the situation to worsen, John spoke up.

"Maybe I can help?" Suddenly all eyes were on him. Daniel, Andy and their father, waited, studying their strange guest, after all, he couldn't even remember his own name, how could he help them? It was a good question, one he found himself struggling to answer. He had been so eager to offer his help; it never once occurred to him that he might not have been able to. "I…uh…" John stammered as he fought with his damaged brain to understand where the impulse to assist had come from. His eyes caught the books that Mr McGregor had been struggling to balance and without hesitating, reached for them. He had merely scanned the page and spotted numerous errors in calculations already. "I think I can help you with this." He muttered and grabbed a nearby pencil, setting to amend the errors.

"Son, if you can balance that book I'll…"

"Done."

"…I'll be glad I didn't finish that sentence."


	3. Chapter 3

It took some quick thinking and sweet talking (mostly to Andy) but John had finally been given permission to leave the house. After two days of being cooped up and coddled (not that all of it was bad, Andy was the one supplying the coddling and he found her very attractive) getting out into the real world, was just what he needed. The first steps outside cleared his head like no other, it helped the air was so fresh after a number of storms and of course they were heading into the colder months.

Daniel had kindly supplied a few items of clothing, mostly old jeans and some faded shirts that no longer fit the larger man. Even though they were too small for Daniel, they still hung off John, but a belt was enough to hold it all together in the middle.

The McGregor Lumber yard was a ten minute drive from their home and while he felt able to walk the distance, Andy made him promise to drive in with her father. Mr McGregor was only happy to oblige. After showcasing his aptitude with numbers the night before, Mr McGregor was keen to put that talent to use back at the office. It seemed the aging lumber jack had been having further problems and it was only after getting a good look at the office and its current state of chaos, did John understand the enormity of the task he had undertaken.

Thankfully there was some semblance of a system in place, no doubt started and maintained by the previous administrator, whom they had to let go once they started having financial trouble. John got the impression at dinner the previous night that the McGregor's troubles were more than financial, but he had no intention of prying. Mr McGregor seemed embarrassed by the whole situation and John didn't want to make him feel any more uncomfortable than he already was. He could tell it had taken a lot for McGregor to finally admit defeat and accept the offer of help. So that's what John was going to do. Help, and hopefully go some way to paying them back.

The morning had sped by so fast, as soon as John was left to his own devices, he was like a one man administration team. He was taking calls, filing, posting, calculating, handling payroll and even chasing up payments from businesses that had received the produce, but had yet to cough up the cash.

By lunch, the office was in a much more respectable condition and he was able to lay his hands on most of the things he needed, when he needed them. The men working in the yard came in on occasion with requests. Some wanted holiday forms, copies of their previous three payslips and two others were being taxed way too much due to an incorrect tax-code. A couple of calls to the right people and their problems were solved, better than solved since after more smooth talking and stunning the agent on the phone with his talent for math, he'd gotten the pair a sizable payout, which would be posted to them in the form of a cheque, post-haste.

After managing that, the jibes from the muscle-bound work force stopped. To hardened men like that, what John was doing was considered woman's work and he had to admit that he found it a little insulting. The mind was a muscle too! But after all of the light hearted teasing he was beginning to feel sorry for his beaten down machismo.

It was early in the afternoon when John hit his wall. He'd been so caught up in the work he'd almost forgotten just a few days prior, he'd almost died. His chest was very sore and his head seemed to pulsate, painfully with every beat of his heart. Despite the obvious downsides to all the hard work, there was an amazing one. With every completed task, every guided conversation, every white-lie and every suave smile, he felt…closer to finding the identity he'd lost. He wasn't sure how he felt about that, being a liar wasn't usually high on the list of characteristics most people wanted, but if it would help the McGregor's, it was ok, wasn't it? It was a tricky dilemma.

John sighed and let the pencil drop before placing his heavy head in both of his hands, careful of the painful gash. It was adequately covered with white gauze and his hair done a good enough job to hide the rest, but no matter how well it was hidden, how neatly it was tucked away, it was still affecting him. He had hoped by now he would remember something about his life, something about his past that might explain who he was and how he came to be here. So far all he had really discovered was that he was good with numbers and could sell ice to the Inuit, but how did any of that get him into the predicament he found himself two days ago? Maybe the Inuit finally caught on and tracked him down…

The door to the metal shack that was the McGregor lumber yard office opened suddenly and John sat up a little straighter, eager to hide his condition from who ever had just entered. A man in his late twenties, not that much older than Daniel came charging in. He had slightly darker hair than the rest of the McGregor's but had an angular facial structure similar to Andy. The resemblance to the other three told John right away who this was. Jack McGregor seemed agitated as he stepped inside, followed closely by his father who made straight for the only other chair in the office and sat himself down.

"Well that does it," Jack announced angrily. "We're done. No way can we stay in operation now."

"Jack, calm down."

"I can't calm down, dad! Not when our entire livelihood is about to be flushed down the God-damned drain!"

"Er…what's going on?" John asked carefully feeling more nervous about asking when Jack shot a glare his way.

"What's he doing here?" The oldest son asked but McGregor ignored that question and decided instead to answer Johns.

"We can't get any fuel delivered and our supply is down to under half." The older man pulled off his old dusty faded, blue cap and slapped it off his knee. "Once this fuel is gone, we won't be able to harvest this current crop."

"Well what seems to be the problem, maybe I can…"

"Listen, pal," Jack spoke up. "I don't know who you think you are, but unless you got a stash of fuel some place, there's nothing you can do." The older McGregor boy looked one last time at his defeated father before leaving the office, clearly unhappy.

"Don't take what Jack says to heart, son," McGregor said with a sad smile. "He's angry at me, not you." The man looked so frail in that moment; John felt his heart start to break for the guy. All he could think to do was pour the man a coffee, which McGregor then Irished up.

"Well, don't get me wrong Mr McGregor but, if that's what you're using to cope with some bad luck, maybe he has a right to be." He indicated the canteen McGregor slipped back into his pocket.

"Don't judge me, son. I'm too old and to long in the tooth to be preached too about the evils of whiskey."

"So you just gonna sit there and drink your life away huh?"

"If I can't work, what else do I have?" McGregor smiled as if he had won the argument and was about to take a sip from the cup when John reached forward and plucked it from his hand.

"What if I can get you the fuel?"

"And how do you expect you can do that? No one for fifty miles will supply us anymore thanks to Clydesdale and his thugs." John set the mug down and just shrugged, smiling as an idea formed in his mind. He knew exactly what he could do.

"Give me an hour." He said confidently. "If I don't have it by then, you can have this coffee."

"But it'll be cold."

"Okay, I'll make you a fresh one." He patted the older man on the shoulder and headed out, calling out to Daniel for a ride into town.

* * *

Daniel McGregor couldn't believe what he was seeing. As he sat at the wheel of his pickup, jaw hung open as he watched the fuel tanker get loaded up and head out of the stop, bound for his family's lumber yard. John had only been in there around fifteen minutes and had some how managed to talk Bill Murphy into supplying the yard once again.

There had been some strange preparation, prior to the meeting. On the way into town they had stopped at a yard sale where, after borrowing twenty bucks, John had purchased a black suit and an old pair of sunglasses with one of the arms loose.

After dressing in the suit and smoothing his fair hair back in a slicker fashion, John had asked Daniel to park on the edge of town and wait while he headed on in, stopping only to talk to some kids who were playing cops and robbers. Daniel witnessed an exchange of the remaining few bucks for one of the boys toys, a plastic police badge.

After that John's whole demeanour changed. He no longer just walked, he marched. His strides were sure and steady; his gaze from behind the black glasses seemed icy and intense. He had literally become another person right before Daniel's eyes. It felt like a lifetime had passed by the time John emerged and headed back towards where Daniel had parked, the closer he got, the more of the persona that John had adopted seemed to be cast off.

"How…how did you do that?" Daniel asked as John lent against the drivers side door, smiling as he watched the same fuel tanker pull out onto the main road and pass them by.

"Oh I just reminded Mr Murphy that he was breaking any amount of laws and regulations when he chooses to supply one business over another, especially when the ones he's supplying, he has a financial stake in."

"Well too right, but, how did you know that?"

"I didn't." John flashed a cheeky smile and Daniel couldn't help but chuckle.

"You played him, my God, I can't believe that worked."

"Me either." The smooth talker confessed as he ruffled his hair free of the sleek style before getting back into the truck. "Let's get back to the yard, it won't take long for this news to get to this Clydesdale fella." Daniel nodded and kicked the truck into gear, steering back the way they had came. "But who is this guy anyway? Why is he so intent on running you guys out of business?"

"There's no one reason, really." Daniel explained, as he relaxed into the drivers seat, taking the pace slow. "I guess it started with our mom. Dad and Mr Clydesdale were both sweet on her, but she chose dad, everything since then has just been about jealousy over our happiness. He might have the bigger yard, crew and more money but, he never had what he really wanted.

"Then about a year ago when we lost mom, dad took to drinking and Clydesdale set his sights on our yard. When dad wouldn't sell, that's when things started to get worse. We've had break ins, vandalism, fires and when that didn't work, Clydesdale paid some thugs to come and harass the crew. We lost half the guys in the last six months, the ones who've stuck around, do so out of loyalty but the way things are going, what with suppliers and mills refusing to have anything to do with us, we're not gonna have enough to pay the guys we have for much longer." Daniel sighed and shook his head. "My brothers taking it a bit hard, all Jack's ever wanted was to run the yard himself and make dad proud."

"I don't think Clydesdale can take that away," John assured. "Your father's proud of you all regardless, that much is obvious."

"I know, and not that it's not important, but it's not gonna put food on the table. If we loose the yard, the only place me and Jack will be able to get work is Clydesdale's yard."

"Sorta like the final twist of the knife, huh?"

"That's an understatement." Daniel shrugged and glanced over at John who had shed the black suit jacket and folded it neatly on the seat beside him. He seemed more at home in the new attire, even with the collar buttoned on the shirt. The guy carried himself with a confidence not many seen in their little corner of the world. Most guys Daniel knew, worked the land in some form or another and didn't talk as much or half as fancy as this John Doe. "You gotta be from the city." Daniel declared after the silence had stretched on a little longer. "It's the only thing I can think where a guy like you, could learn all you know."

"All I know isn't a lot, pal." John half laughed and shook his head.

"You seriously have no idea who you are?"

"I seriously have no idea."

"But you must have some clue? Some… insight after what you just pulled off back there? I mean, I've never met anyone who can live a lie that well. Except maybe some of the married guys back at the yard." Daniel laughed at the last part, since one or two of his friends were not happy with the choices they had made in their partners. "Maybe you're an actor?"

"You think?" He asked genuinely intrigued by the idea.

"Sure, I mean, you look good in a suit, you got the cleanest hands of any guy I know and you got a way that just makes people like you."

"I look good in the suit huh?" John adjusted the tie. "Well, it's not hard. It is an Armani."

"A what now?" Daniel asked, not having a clue about fashion. So long as something fit and was comfortable for him to work in, then he liked it.

"An Armani, vintage too. Not bad for ten bucks." John grinned, looking a bit like the cat who got the cream.

* * *

The drive back to the yard was relaxing and the sense of accomplishment John felt for having acquired the fuel put him at ease. He sat and enjoyed the scenery, thinking back on his conversation with Daniel. Since he had started to discover these 'talents' of his, John was developing a crisis of conscience, because he honestly didn't know whether or not he had been a man that anyone could be proud to call their own, but after Daniel's suggestion that he maybe an actor, John started to feel a lot better about who he might have been.

It all made so much sense. He knew he couldn't be a very well known actor, or his disappearance wouldn't have gone unnoticed. He could be an up and coming star, who was on vacation…but it still didn't explain why he had been attacked two days ago, and found himself running for his life. But still, he felt better about a lot of other aspects of his personality, at least now he could sleep at night.

They pulled into the yard not expecting what they were greeted by. Most of the crew had stopped work and stood at the back of the yard, while Jack and Mr McGregor stood toe to toe with three other men.

"Oh no." Daniel muttered and quickly parked up before hurrying to stand with his family. John got out to, jogging to catch up getting there just as Mr McGregor was punched and shoved to the ground. Jack and Daniel both snapped into action, taking on the three goons. Being of similar size and build, it was a much fairer fight than it had been for their father.

Despite the obvious handicap of his own size and build, not to mention the injuries he still carried, John dove in to help. Taking hold of the third goon, who, along with one of his friends, tried to double team Daniel, John ran full speed into the guy, catching him by surprise and tackling him to the ground. After a brief battle for top spot, John found himself straddling the guy and firing off a few well aimed punches. A jab to the nose, left cross to the jaw and right cross to the left eye socket. There was a sickening crack of bone on the third hit, luckily it hadn't come from John, even though his hand hurt like hell. The goon was out and just in time as he had been reaching for a gun. Gathering the weapon, John acted almost on auto pilot. While Jack had been able to stagger his own attacker, the bastard, now on the floor was reaching for a gun also. It seemed to be their way, loose a fist fight, grab a gun.

As the goon snapped his arm out to aim the weapon at Jack, who stood startled by the appearance of the firearm, John aimed and squeezed the trigger softly, so sure of his aim and his skill. As the bullet collided with the out stretched gun hand of the hitman, John felt a wave of familiarity wash over him. He released the trigger as a scream sounded out across the yard from the now crippled gunman, holding a hand that poured with blood. Without missing a beat, John turned the gun on the man Daniel was struggling with, knowing him to be armed also. The guy froze as did everyone else on the lot.

"Now you've got two choices. You can gather up your friends here and crawl back into what ever hole you oozed out from, or you can reach for the piece you're carrying and try to take me out." John smiled, one that didn't reach his blue eyes as he stared down all three men. "Only this time, I won't be aiming for your hand, pal."

It didn't take the cowards long to make their decision and they were quickly leaving the yard, piling into an off-white pickup and screeching onto the main road.

Silence covered the lumber yard and no one had moved, least of all John, though he had lowered the gun to his side and clicked on the safety. It was eerie how he knew exactly what to do, what to say. How quickly he had sprang into action and taken charge of the situation, but what was more frightening still, was the threat he had uttered so calmly. He'd meant every word. Strangely, he felt so calm about it and even the breath he had held as the thugs scrambled to leave was let go with poise and control.

"Dad, you alright?" Jack asked as he helped to gather the fallen man from the floor. McGregor seemed shaken but otherwise unhurt. The only injury the McGregor's had suffered was that of a busted lip, modelled currently by Daniel who looked at John with something of a shocked expression.

"I've never seen anything like that," Daniel said, still out of breath from the brawl. "I thought I was a good shot, but you…"

"It was nothing," John tried to play it down; the last thing he needed was for this to be blown out of all proportion. So what, he could shoot? He'd been found with a gun two days ago, it was hardly a surprise.

"No, Daniel's right." The older of the two brothers approached the mystery man whom they had found close to death just two days prior and John could only guess what was going through their minds right now. "The way you took that guy down, and made that shot, that was special. I've only ever seen one other guy be able to do that, and he was a Green Beret."

"You mean, he could be army?" Daniel asked, his younger eyes lighting up. "Is this, ringing any bells, John?"

"What? No," he shook his head, which was now ringing. The adrenaline that had spurred him on was wearing off and now he could feel all the bruises screaming at him. "Look, I just reacted that's all. So I'm a good shot, big deal! That just means I put in plenty of hours in at the shooting range."

"That would make you good at hitting sitting targets, but not what we just saw there." Jack said almost smugly and John sighed, throwing the gun to the ground. "Hey pal, calm down it's not a bad thing…"

"Oh you know that for sure do you?" He snapped back, making all three McGregor's step back slightly aghast. "Let me ask you this. You wake up one morning with no idea who you are, but in possession of all these skills? Lying, cheating, stealing and a deadly aim! What kind of person are you, huh!?" He tried to calm, having practically screamed out his current insecurities for the whole world to hear, including Andy who had just rounded the corner having heard the shots from her clinic not to far away. "I'll tell you what you are." He laughed bitterly, rubbing his face with a trembling hand. "You're nothing good, that's for damned sure."

He quickly turned away from the three men, who finally seemed to realise his dilemma, and began walking away. Andy tried to call to him but John just didn't have it in him to be around any of them right now. He had so many new questions rolling around in his mind that he could barely form together a coherent thought amidst all the chaos. He needed some time to collect those thoughts and wrap his mind around what all this might mean. He headed towards the McGregor house at a steady pace, keeping to the foot path that wove through the trees adjacent to the road. He had no other place to go, no one else to turn to for help, after blowing up back at the yard he wondered if he could still turn to the McGregor's…

* * *

Hannibal sat quietly in the van while B.A worked in silence in the back. The sergeant was putting the finishing touches to the electronic device in his hand, adjusting the dials so they could pick up the broadcast from the hidden bug in Clydesdale's office. Murdock had seen to planting the thing, fixing it by the phone while he gave a progress report to the man who hired them.

There wasn't much of anything to report, Clydesdale's yard was running unhindered by the troubles the man had told Mr Lee about and Hannibal was wondering if any of Clydesdale's accusations had ever been true at all. With Face still missing (though not through lack of searching), Hannibal had had enough. He knew the sleazy businessman was behind his friends disappearance from that initial conversation two days prior, but he couldn't afford to act on that until they knew Face was safe. After two days of keeping a close eye on Clydesdale, under the guise of hired-guns, they'd so far come up empty and their worry had grown into anger. With every hour that passed, the chance that Face was still breathing, decreased. Murdock was taking it the hardest and Hannibal was doing his best to keep the pilot grounded, but as his own emotions started to run high, acting a little crazy seemed to be a better idea.

One more day, Hannibal thought. If they hadn't been able to determine Face's fate by then, then he would go in there and try to dig it out of Clydesdale's brain himself. He'd been trained in interrogation tactics and so far he had gone through life without resorting to the darker, deadlier side of that but, his patience wasn't infinite.

Hannibal was pulled from his dark thoughts as an off-white pick-up pulled into the yard and he watched with interest as three men got out, one injured. Murdock was watching from a nearby vantage point and came over the radio a moment later.

_"Three amigos are back and one has been relieved of a finger, colonel. Want me to go in and check it out?"_

"Negative, captain. If Clydesdale has an audience while these guys explain what's happened, he might not be inclined to divulge the truth. Hold position."

_"Roger that."_

"B.A?" Hannibal turned to the mechanic who activated the speaker, having completed the last adjustments a moment ago. The voices came over the airwaves, with a minimum of static making it easier to understand who was speaking, but the first thing they heard was the commotion as the injured party stumbled inside.

_"What in God's name…" _Hannibal recognised Clydesdale's voice easily and lit up half a cigar while the radio show got started. _"What the hell happened!?"_

_"You're never gonna believe this boss…"_

_"What the hell, you're bleeding all over my rug!"_

"I don't see Clydesdale being nominated for any humanitarian awards any time soon." Hannibal muttered seeing B.A snarl in agreement.

_"Sorry boss…"_

_"Don't be sorry, cover that hand up and if you're gonna bleed then do it outside! Now what happened?"_

_"We was giving McGregor a talking to, like you said. Then outa nowhere we was jumped."_

_"By McGregor's two boys…"_

_"What!? You couldn't handle those two knuckle heads!?"_

_"It wasn't just them boss. It was that A-Team fella."_

_"Smith?"_

_"No, that smooth talking creep, the one who came here the other day." _Hannibal removed the cigar from his mouth, his gaze still firmly fixed on the radio in the back as they continued to listen. After two days of worry, they'd finally made the breakthrough they needed and the relief the colonel felt from discovering Face was alive, and it seemed, in good form was reflected in B.A's as the mechanic blew out a breath.

_"That's not possible…" _Clydesdale sounded worried and Hannibal wondered briefly if on some primitive level he knew of the ass-kicking he was heading for. _"I shot him, I saw him go down! You said he was dead!" _Not just an ass kicking, Hannibal thought as he extinguished his cigar and threw it out of the window.

_"No, boss. I said he was probably dead. I mean there was blood at the scene I just assumed…"_

_"You ASSUMED!?" _There was a scrambling of sorts, followed by shouting and a loud bang before the feed cut out.

"Sounds like the bug took a pounding." B.A explained and climbed from the back into the drivers seat.

"And that's not the only thing getting a pounding by the sounds of it." Hannibal could just about hear the muffled shouts coming from the office just across the yard. He shook his head and got back on the radio to Murdock. "We're coming to pick you up, captain."

_"Great, any place in particular we're heading to?"_

"The McGregor's lumber yard, that's where Face is."


	4. Chapter 4

It didn't take the trio long to get to the McGregor yard and since it had started to get dark, most of the manual labour had ground to a halt and only a few buildings were lit up. One being the main office, which was conveniently sign-posted.

B.A pulled up and they exited the van under the watchful gaze of two broad shouldered young men. Hannibal scanned the yard as they approached the pair, who seemed to be locking up the yard while a third man, this one much older, exited the office, locking the door behind him. There was no sign of Face.

"Evening," Hannibal called as he lit up a fresh cigar. The two younger men didn't respond, merely watched these new arrivals nervously, as if they were expecting another confrontation. It wasn't hard to blame them for their caution, B.A was very intimidating.

"Evening, fella." It was the older man who spoke as he slowly came down the steps towards Hannibal. They guy was in his early fifties and was sporting a rather painful black eye. "Listen, I just locked up but, if you need some help I can… open up and you can make use of the phone." The offer was genuine, as was the nervousness in the older mans voice and Hannibal shook his head, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible.

"No, we're good. You're McGregor? And this here, your yard?"

"Who's asking?" The biggest of the two boys stepped forward, placing himself between Hannibal and the old man.

"The names Hannibal Smith, this is B.A and Howling Mad Murdock." He indicated each member of his team as he spoke.

"Easy, Jack. Not everyone is a scumball like Clydesdale." McGregor stepped forward, not content and not willing to hide behind the younger man, even it meant him taking another beating and Hannibal couldn't help but admire his bravery, not that he was in any danger, but from the way the three men held themselves, they didn't know that.

"Listen to your boss, Jack."

"He's my dad."

"You too?" Hannibal asked the younger of the two broad set boys, who nodded and continued to stand at the ready.

"That's my youngest, Danny." McGregor explained. "Look, I don't want anymore trouble."

"We figured as much," Hannibal plucked the cigar from his mouth and held it in his hand so he could better explain. "That's why we're here."

"What do you mean?" Jack asked, still on edge.

"Clydesdale hired us to come and lean on you nice folks." Both Jack and Danny shared a look but Hannibal continued. "You see, he told us that you guys were giving him a hard time. Sabotaging his yard, stealing fuel deliveries."

"That's bull-shit!" Jack exclaimed.

"I know." Hannibal smiled. "I don't like being lied to. So I'm here to offer you our services, no charge. All expenses will be extracted from Clydesdale's hide."

"Are you serious?" Danny asked obviously not sure what to think.

"The colonel, is always, always serious." Murdock offered, standing casually with his hands in jacket pockets.

"Just who are you guys?"

"We're the A-Team."

* * *

It had been a couple of hours since the attack on the yard and during that time, John had managed to walk off most of the anger. The forests surrounding the McGregor's place were tranquil and void of people to distract him as he struggled still to remember who he was, who he might be. He had hope some alone time would aid in his recovery, but it was to much to hope for, he was still none the wiser and still struggling to come to terms with all he had discovered about himself. He was bad news and no matter how good his intentions were, he was terrified he would bring only more trouble into the McGregor's lives. So he had come to the decision to leave.

They had been so kind, saved his life and he wanted nothing more than to repay that kindness, but considering all of the uncertainty and mystery surrounding himself, the last thing he wanted was to being more trouble their way. He had already made things much worse by shooting the thug, now Clydesdale was likely to strike back harder…if he left, they might just be left alone. It was a long shot and a train of thought he couldn't one-hundred percent believe in, but if he stayed he knew for certain, it would only get worse.

So it was with a heavy heart and a heavier conscience that John headed back towards the house. It had gotten dark some time ago and the vintage Armani done little to protect him from the cold creeping into his bones. He ached from head to toe, more so in his chest as the bruised bones continue to protest his refusal to rest and let them heal. He would gather the few possessions he had and say his goodbyes and head off into the sunset.

The winding trail eventually led back to the main road and he was about to step out when a distinctive black van, with a single red stripe sped by, coming to a stop just outside the house. John was still quite well hidden by the trees to be noticed by any of the people getting out, so he stayed there and watched. The attack earlier had left him wary, the McGregor's had been assaulted once and he knew deep down it was only a matter of time before that happened again.

He was questioning his decision to leave when a large black man exited the drivers side. He was well built, putting most of the lumber jacks to shame and was adorned in about twenty different heavy gold chains. Another man came into view having exited along with Mr McGregor and his son Daniel. This guy looked jittery, wearing a blue cap and a leather jacket that was so faded, the picture on the back was almost completely gone.

John felt sick to his stomach as Andy came running from the house but was quickly ushered inside by Mr McGregor, who seemed agitated and John thought he saw why. A third man had come around to the back of the van. He wore a beige jacket with hands covered in black leather gloves. He was chewing on a cigar as he opened the back of the van. From his position, John could see right inside into a hidden compartment. Guns, grenades and enough ammunition to start a war. The white haired stranger seemed to pause as he finished tucking a pistol into the back of his pants, before turning to check the tree-line behind, as if he knew he was being watched.

John had recognised the signs, sensed the mans intent and had slipped further back into the trees, surprising himself with how stealthy he had been. As he moved through the cover of the forest, John couldn't help but feel he had done all this before. He knew how to move, where to put his feet, and when it was safe to strike. He had maundered towards McGregor's old pickup, using it as cover as he exited the trees and waited for the white haired stranger to turn his back once more. Once again John was moving silently, but with a speed he didn't think was possible. He charged into the man, knocking him against the now closed doors of the van before wrapping his arm around the guys neck and applying just enough pressure to force him off balance. The guy was just a little bit taller than John and strong, but John had the element of surprise on his side and he wasn't about to let that opportunity slip away, but as they struggled the younger man knew this wasn't a fight he could win. The stranger hadn't panicked or struggled, unnecessarily wasting precious oxygen and energy as John cut it off at the source by applying greater pressure to the guys throat. He didn't want to hurt him, just wanted him down, but that wasn't going to happen. The stranger pulled back his left arm and dove his elbow directly into Johns chest. The younger man all but yelped as he felt his already bruised ribs give a little more, digging further towards his lungs. Luckily there was no tell-tale snap or crunch of bone, but it hurt all the same.

Stunned and winded by the pain, John had no choice but to let go as his body involuntarily curled up to protect his vulnerable midsection, but in the struggle he had won the pistol the stranger had concealed. Not phased or willing to slow down, the older man turned to throw a powerful right cross hoping to connect with Johns jaw. Thankfully despite his daze, John was able to duck and throw back his own assault on whitey's gut and side, his fist connecting hard with his kidney. Whitey grunted but still didn't go down, instead grabbing John by the shirt, buttons popping open as John was dragged and shoved against the black van. The impact shot through his body, knocking another breath out of his aching lungs. Stars danced before his eyes as he threw the best punch he had into the strangers jaw, catching the corner of his mouth. Whitey's hold on him faded as he staggered with the blow and John followed up with a well placed knee to the older mans face, and down he went. It wasn't much of a victory, especially since John was ready to drop, but he still had an ace to play. Dragging in a few much needed breaths, John aimed the pistol at whitey.

"D-don't even think about getting back up, pal." John warned, the stranger just smiled as he looked up, the corner of his mouth oozing blood.

"Nice, kid. You've been working out." The stranger ignored the warning and got back to his feet, wiping the blood from his jaw, still smiling leaving John more confused than ever.

"Hannibal?" The other two men from the van came running from the house. John turned the pistol on them but they kept coming, like they didn't consider him a threat at all. He'd only taken his eye of this Hannibal guy for a second and he had already been disarmed by the man. He was older, sure, but he didn't move or fight like it. John stepped back, lifting one hand up in submission while his other nursed his left side and the busted ribs there-in. Hannibal seemed confused by the act, looking at John like he was crazy which just made John more nervous.

"John!" A familiar female voice called. John obviously turned as it was he who was being called, but what struck him as odd, was that Hannibal turned also. Andy came running towards him followed by Mr McGregor. "Oh my God, what were you thinking!? You're in no condition to be fighting, let me see…" She was already prying his protective hand from where he clasped it against his side and pulling open what buttons remained of his shirt.

"I-I thought you were in trouble." He explained breathlessly.

"From us?!" the guy in cap seemed dumbfounded by the notion and looked at John in a peculiar way, like he was deeply offended.

"When I saw the guns…and after the attack today at the yard…" All three men were now looking at him like he had something disgusting on his face and he wiped a hand over his jaw self-consciously.

"It's to dark out here," Andy said suddenly making John wince when she tried to feel for any breaks. "Lets get inside were its warm, you're frozen." Her green eyes glared at him accusingly. "How long have you been out here!?"

"I'm fine!" He assured but she wasn't buying it. Continuing to ignore Andy he glared at the three strangers once more and asked, "Just who are you guys? And what's with the arms dealership in the back?"

* * *

Hannibal watched as the pretty, young doctor led her patient back inside, the kid complaining the entire way. She acted like most women did around Face, smitten with an irresistible urge to care for him the only way a woman could. The colonel always thought it was part of the kids act, that when he turned on the charm it was only then they fell at his feet. Yet Face, with no clue about who he was, had managed to get this girl to gush all over him.

"I tell ya, I don't know how he does it," Murdock said as he watched the retreating pair head back into the house. "He doesn't even need to try and the skirts are all over him. Must be part of that, feline charm. Did you happen to spot his tail when he was kicking your ass, sir?" Hannibal grinned and shook his head.

"No, captain, I did not. I didn't even realise it was Face until he spoke." The colonel placed the safety back on the pistol before shoving it into the back of his pants. "I didn't even realise he took my piece either…"

"This is crazy," B.A chimed in but kept his voice down so no one inside the house could hear. "What made Face attack you? And why didn't he try to get in contact?"

"Now I know there are times when what I say, don't make no sense but," Murdock paused, as if he expected B.A to interrupt. "I couldn't help but notice that, Facey didn't seem to recognise us."

"I noticed that too." Hannibal stated as the trio headed towards the front door.

"So it got me thinking again that maybe…"

"Oh man, here it comes." B.A groaned, knowing the signs of approaching 'jibber-jabber'.

"This might not be our Face! That man in there could well be, Face's long lost twin brother!" The pilot became more animated as he continued, arms flailing about as he indicated first Face, then the sky above as if it was a miracle. "He's gonna be so happy when we tell him."

"Let's not jump to any assumptions yet, Murdock." Hannibal patted the pilots shoulder and proceeded to enter the McGregor home. "First we need hard evidence, we wouldn't want to get Face's hopes up and find out, we were wrong would we?"

"The voice of wisdom as always, colonel."

Hannibal smiled and turned to assess the scene. The young doctor had Face propped up against one of the kitchen work tops holding a bag of frozen peas over some evil looking bruising around his chest, and right away the colonel wished he could take that first jab back. The discolouration was too large and had already started to fade for Hannibal to be the cause, no; Face had earned that injury days ago. The same could be said for the head injury, the only indication being a grubby gauze, stained with a little blood. Hannibal could just about make out the rest of the gash, visible where Face's hair stuck out. The full extent of the injury became clear as Dr McGregor removed the soiled gauze, ready to redress the wound and right away Hannibal knew what had caused it. It was too long to blunt force and there was minimal trauma to the bone. The bruising was localised to the broken skin only, and taking into account Clydesdale's earlier confession (granted he didn't realised he was giving it), it was clear. This was the shot that was meant to kill their friend.

"Looks like someone really done a number on you, kid." Hannibal stated before chewing the end off a fresh cigar, since the other had been lost during their scuffle.

"That's some keen observation skills you've got, pop." Hannibal couldn't help but smile at that.

"You really have no idea who we are, do you?"

"Should I?" If the colonel hadn't been there to see it in Face's eyes himself, he might not have believed it, but the kid was genuinely asking a genuine question.

"He doesn't even know who he is," the young doctor explained as she finished applying fresh gauze. "My brothers found him in the woods two days ago; what ever happened to him out there has resulted in partial amnesia."

"Just a second," Face gently coaxed Dr McGregor's hands away from his head and approached Hannibal. "Do you guys, know me?" The kid stood, slightly stooped still holding the peas to his side and Hannibal sighed.

"I can tell you how you got that nasty gash. Someone tried to shoot you. But then, you knew that already." He looked to the doctor who nodded nervously. "You thought he was in trouble with the law, which is why you didn't confess when I showed you that picture." The colonel smiled as the girls eyes lit with recognition.

"So you do know me?" Face looked at each of them, desperate to know but Hannibal wasn't so sure telling him everything he wanted to know was the best idea.

"Yeah, we know each other pretty well, kid. But I'm not about to just tell you."

"Why not?"

"Because you need to remember for yourself, Clydesdale tried to shoot you and you need to remember why."

"Why would he shoot me?"

Hannibal grinned. "You tell me."

* * *

Night had closed in and the McGregor house was closed off from the elements outside. The first snow of the season was beginning to fall and the temperature had plummeted. Mr McGregor had offered his home to the trio they knew only as the A-Team.

Andy was busy making dinner, the strange man known as Murdock offering his assistance. Apparently he couldn't cook, but figured he could still be of some help to her, since she had three extra mouths to feed.

B.A, the scary looking guy, was outside locking up his van while Hannibal was chatting to Mr McGregor. John could just about hear what was being said from his position on the sofa laid out stretched, as to sit up was too uncomfortable. The peas had completely defrosted by now and Andy collected the bag with a smile before handing it to her assistant chef who added the peas to the pot.

Daniel came in with B.A , both carrying fire wood and the pair worked together to get a fire blazing away in the hearth.

"Here!" John was pulled from his people watching by Murdock who gently placed a new bag of frozen peas against his exposed chest. The injured man felt a little uncomfortable by the closeness of a man he had no memory of, but thanked him all the same, trying not to be too abrupt. It was clear by the expression on the captains face, he had noticed John's irritation. "Ah… hey man, I'm sorry." Murdock began as he sat down on the coffee table opposite. "I keep forgetting. This is all a little strange, isn't it?"

"You could say that."

"More so for you, obviously since you're in a room full of people you don't know, including yourself. And I'm… well I'm being selfish, aren't I? You know cos, all I want is to have my friend back and when I see you I see my friend, but when you see me, you see…some guy who may or may not be crazy."

"I hadn't noticed the crazy." He lied. The guy was clearly crazy and John had no idea what he would do if he felt insulted after all!

"I must be loosing my touch."

_Was that a joke?_

"So anyway, muchacho, I know what its like to feel alone in a crowded room, so I thought I'd come over and try to make you a little more comfortable."

"How did you plan on doing that?" John asked nervously as Murdock moved from the coffee table to sit on the edge of the sofa.

"Well, I've had a lot of sessions on the sofa…" the captain shuffled a little closer, looking to make himself comfortable.

_This doesn't sound good._

"…so I feel I'm more than qualified in my experience to, offer up my services and…"

_Oh dear God!_

"…listen."

"Huh?!" It was difficult to keep the relief out of his voice.

"Talk to me, what's on your mind?" Murdock sat back, producing a note pad and pencil before putting on a rather convincing German accent and continued. "Let Dr H. M. Murdock help to alleviate your anxieties."

"What anxieties, I don't have any-"

"None-sense! You're stress levels are through the roof, look they left a hole up there." John found himself looking up, having been drawn into the guys reality. It was only when he realised that no hole could have been made did he shake his head as if to clear it.

"Alright, maybe I am a little…stressed out." He conceded seeing Murdock nod and begin to write. "I mean, I have no idea who I am, what I do, in possession of a certain skill set that…maybe belong to the undesirables' of society…"

"And how does that make you feel?"

"Nervous!"

"Why?" Despite the ridiculous accent, he seemed to be serious.

"I don't want to be a…bad person." John finally admitted with a sigh.

"I see…" Dr Murdock seemed to look over his notes and when John didn't say anything else, "Oh sorry are you done?" John rolled his eyes.

_This guy's crazy._

"Ok, work with me here."

_At least he's dropped the accent…_

"You're saying to me, you're scared that, because of the things you can do, you think you're a slimeball? Don't you see the irony in that?" Murdock was now sat forward, smiling down at the injured man. "Lil' brother, if you don't want to be a bad person, if every fibre of your being is repulsed by the idea of bringing misery to others and shame upon your soul then, how on earth can you be anything but good!?"

_Ok, maybe he's not crazy after all._

"You…make a good point." John thought it over for a moment. Could it be that simple? Was the fact that he was so conflicted about what moral choices he might have made wrongly, make him a decent human being?

"Listen muchacho," Murdock's hand rested gently on John's shoulder and his voice took on a softer tone. "You've got nothing to worry about." The strange captain smiled before getting up, his large brown eyes a little sad and for the first time John considered the impact of his amnesia on these people who claimed to be his friends. Ever since he'd been told they knew him, and knew him well, he had been a little sceptical, but after seeing that expression on Murdock, he was starting to believe them.

* * *

Hannibal spent most of the evening talking to Mr McGregor and Daniel about their current situation and just what they had in terms of equipment and supplies at their yard. He was also trying to find out if they knew of any reason Clydesdale wanted them gone so badly, neither could help much with that.

When dinner was served, the colonel kept talk of work to a minimum, it seemed what everyone needed now was some time to relax. The oldest son, Jack arrived at the house a short time later and pretty soon there were eight people squeezed around the six place dining table.

Andy and Murdock had made enough to feed the entire lumber yard and everyone dug in, even the peas which had been pre-cooked on Face's chest. It was difficult not to refer to the kid by his usual moniker, but Hannibal thought it best that Face discover himself, when his mind was ready too and not before. The last thing the kid needed after such a traumatic experience was to be rushed in his recovery. The mind was a fragile thing, once damaged it seldom recovered, something they all knew well.

After dinner McGregor got out his scotch and offered some to the rest of the room. Everyone except for Face partook, mainly because Andy wouldn't allow him. It was probably for the best since the kid looked ready to drop. The McGregor girl had managed to get Face to take some thing for the pain and half an hour after later, the kid was struggling to stay awake. Andy was doing her best to get Face to admit defeat and head to bed, but she wasn't having much luck. After over ten years of 'handling' Face, Hannibal was something of a pro and stepped in, putting his arm around the younger man and steering him towards the stairs.

"Come along, John." Hannibal soothed, cutting Face off from his self pitty. Suddenly the kid just started to laugh.

"Long John!" He snerked, missing the first step by an inch because of his giggling. "Oops!"

"I'll have what ever you've just had, kid." Hannibal said with a smile before guiding him once more onwards and upwards. It took a few minutes, but thankfully Face was able to make it to the top under his own steam, even if he was a little sparky thanks to the meds.

Hannibal got the lieutenant sat on the bed with little trouble and was about to leave him to settle down when something told him he should stick around. Face was just sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at his feet, deep in thought. Like he was a general figuring how to out smart his enemy. The enemy being, his boots.

"Need a hand, kid?"

"No." Face slurred. "I need…a new set of ribs." Hannibal chuckled softly and put a hand on Face's shoulder.

"Lay back." Face done as he was asked and as the kid lowered back, Hannibal got each booted foot and swung them around, so Face was now laid across the full length of the single bed. "I'll help you with your boots, and you can get some sleep." The colonel said softly as he undone the first set of laces. He thought Face was already out since his breathing was slow and steady but after a minute, he spoke up again.

"Déjà vu…"

"What?"

"You, me…the boots. It's happened before."

Hannibal smiled, this was a good sign. "It has."

"I drank too much…?"

"Just now, or the time before?"

"The time before."

"You did." The first boot was off now and so Hannibal moved on to the second. "Do you remember why?"

"Lesley…" The kid turned away to hide his face, even after all these years that particular wound still hadn't healed. "I wanted to…forget."

"But instead, you ended up telling me all about her."

"I did?"

"Well, I never did catch her name, but I got the idea." With the second boot now off, Hannibal reached down and pulled one of the blankets from under the kid and covered him over. "We all have our own reasons for enlisting."

"Did you ever tell me yours?"

Hannibal paused and thought back for a second. He had, but the kid had been off his face drunk at the time. If it had been any other officer, Face would have been disciplined more harshly, but Hannibal had recognised the signs in Face back then, knew he needed that opportunity to blow off some steam, so had let him. Drank him under the table and when the kid could barely stand, had disclosed his own unique reasons from joining the army, knowing the chances that Face would remember were slim. It made it easier to share.

"I did." He left it at that and he knew the kid would understand by the tone in his voice that now wasn't the time to talk about that, there might never be another time. "Do you remember anything about Clydesdale yet?" A change of subject was in order.

"No… I'm sorry I keep trying but…"

"Don't try. Think about something else for a while."

"As simple as that, huh?"

"I find, the simplest option, is usually the correct one. Get some sleep, kid." Hannibal quietly left as Face muttered his sleepy thanks and the colonel quickly made his way back down the stairs to where B.A and Murdock were waiting for instructions. They looked to their leader, waiting to hear what he had planned.

"Murdock, you and I are going back to Clydesdale, he doesn't know we're on to him and until Face can remember just what it is the slimeball is up to, we need to stay close. B.A, stay here, keep an eye on Face and the McGregor's. Clydesdale's might call down another hit, he see's Face as a threat since he's not dead like he assumed."

"Don't worry Hannibal," The sergeant pounded one of his fists into the opposite palm, psyching himself up. "If any of those suckers show their face, I'll break out my tools and rearrange their features."

"Just don't go spoiling your appetite, big guy." Murdock said as Hannibal smiled.

"That's right, captain. You don't fill up on bread, when you've got fillet steak to dine on." The colonel's smile was infectious, especially when his two companions both understood his metaphor. Clydesdale was about to be flambéed.


	5. Chapter 5

It was a strange situation to be in, right now he felt like he was two people, both of whom where identical in terms of personality, physique and everything in between. What made them different were their experiences. While 'John' was in essence only a few days old, Face was a man well into his thirties with a lifetime of happiness and hardship in equal measure, while the amnesia was a wall that had separated the pair. But as the cement eroded, and the bricks became loose and fell, the two men could see more of each other. John could see more of Face and Face could almost connect again with the reality he had been cut off from. Both men, were slowly fusing together to once again formulate a whole consciousness.

Face only had a very vague awareness of this happening, as the pain medication coupled with the fatigue, stress and lingering concussion saw the lieutenant out cold for the most part.

In the final moment before sleep claimed him, Face had decided to take Hannibal's advice, and not think too much about trying to remember. So instead of focusing on retracing his steps back, he thought about dinner that night. About being crammed around a table full of people, enjoying the company, laughter and a meal. He had done that before, not with the McGregor's, but with a bunch of guys back in the army. The long days of training were broken up by meal times in the mess hall. Each man filling their tray with energy granting food, keeping up their strength, ready for the next task to be assigned.

Face had struggled in those first months, still hurting over Lesley leaving his life with no reason and no word; he worked hard to hide that pain. It was there his ability to lie well, making people believe exactly what he wanted them to believe, grew. He didn't share his lonely past with anyone, they didn't need to know. He worked and trained hard, and had a damn good time with all the guys around as a distraction, the pain of being jilted only came to him in the lonely hours of the night.

The nights weren't always lonely however, later they were filled with explosions and gunfire. In a place were nature was predominant, men… friends, fought an enemy they didn't always see, and you didn't always see those friends die. Sometimes they were just names on a list, dog tags in a bloodstained bag because there was nothing left of them to take home. The days were as dark as the nights, full of fear and uncertainty, and the heartbreak of a lost love was the furthest thing from his mind. He'd got his wish, he forgotten that pain only to replace it with a whole different kind.

The glory of war was a lie, honourable service to ones country, just a line. The rewards for service were enticing but as Face's time in Vietnam stretched on, and the more friends he saw die, he realised with a pit in his stomach, that none of that was worth ones life. Everything the military was offering couldn't compare to basking in the sun on a cloudless day, running into the surf of deep blue seas, or the scent of freshly mowed grass. Who needed glory? It was just a word! What was honour, if no one remembered you? And the pay? It was a joke.

He didn't desert. He stayed for his friends. He didn't give up; he kept himself alive for the promise that none of it could last forever. And in those truly godless days in the POW camps, he kept it together for his team, his brothers and the love he had for each.

With every memory revealed, Face lived that moment again before spiralling onto the next. The entire nights sleep was far from restful and in the darkest of those dreams, Face cried out, his choked voice strangled with agony and aguish only a fellow survivor could understand. Had he been aware of his own voice he might have been embarrassed, but all he could comprehend was what played on behind his closed eyes.

The final insult and perhaps the most hurtful was the verdict of their trail. Guilty, how could the country they had endangered their lives for, find them guilty!? The mystery of his life was now apparent, the truth of his fate, and that of his friends and team mates, revealed. Unfair. Pathetic. Unjust!

Years of service! Their lives on the line, every day while in that accursed country, fighting a war no one believed in! Hated for doing their job and cast aside like the carcass of a sacrificial lamb, having played its part in a futile string of events… An embarrassment to the brass, who wanted nothing more, than for them to disappear. Face wanted to scream from his seat as the verdict was read, he hadn't then, he regretted it ever since. Living it again he decided that wouldn't be a mistake he made twice.

"You son's of bitches!"

"Hey, man. Wake up." A strong but gentle shove to his shoulder followed the gruff voice and Face's eyes shot open.

"Can you believe that…?" He said sleepily, blinking up at B.A who he could barely see since it was so dark. "They don't know what they're talking about."

"Who?"

"The…general?" It took those few seconds for Face to realise they weren't standing before the military court that had convicted them. "The court. The verdict, its bullshit." There was no word from B.A for the longest of moments and that strong but gentle hand just remained on the lieutenants' shoulder. "Oh man…" Face rubbed at his eyes. "Sorry B.A, guess I was dreaming, huh?"

"Sounded more like a nightmare." B.A's hand retreated and the burly mechanic sat back on the chair opposite the bed. As Face's eyes adjusted to the limited light in the room, he could make out B.A a little better. "But it sounds like you're remembering some stuff, that's good."

"Not really…"

"You know what I mean, Face."

"Yeah, I do." He flashed B.A the barest hint of a smile in silent apology. It was bad enough one of them had to relive all that crap, he wasn't about to pull B.A down with him. "What time is it, how long was I out?"

"About eight hours. It's early."

"I don't want to go back to sleep, not while all that is still fresh in my mind." Face slowly sat up, his right hand going to nurse his bruised chest. B.A seemed to contemplate his decision to help before finally offering a hand to his team mate.

"So you've remembered everything?" B.A asked as they made their way downstairs as quietly as they could since the McGregor's were sleeping.

"There's still big holes, but, I've got most of it back." Face headed towards the dinning table where B.A had some electronic equipment, taking the time to tinker while it was quiet. He also had a large map of the area unfolded, along with a glass of milk and a few cookies.

"What about this Clydesdale fella, know why he tried to kill you yet?" B.A sat, grabbing the handheld remote he had been working on and a screwdriver, setting to work to finish what ever task Hannibal had given him. Face sat looking down at the map, something caught his eye, something familiar. "Face?"

"Huh?" He was snapped from his thoughts but couldn't bring himself to look away from the map, more specifically, the shape of the land that was the McGregor's land. He had seen a similar map a few days ago but there was something missing on the one before him. Without another word he plucked a pen from a nearby bureau, and started to draw the missing shape from his memory, hoping it would bring on a clearer recollection.

"What's that?" B.A asked as he stood beside the lieutenant.

"I…I don't quite know yet." He frowned down at the area he had just shaded, noticing that while most of it was in the McGregor's land, the thinner section ran north into the Clydesdale farm. While Face leaned over the map, trying to force the memory from the unreachable corner of his memory, B.A done the same, studying the mark Face had made. As the mechanic leaned in, one of his many gold medallions started to swing, catching Face's eye. "Wait…" He said softly, still fixated on the piece as it swung back and forth over the map. "That's it, I remember."

"Well it's about time." B.A grumbled as he stood up straighter.

"I need to get into town…" Face headed for the door, with B.A following.

"But Hannibal's got the van." The lieutenant paused, but was struck with an idea as he remembered more about himself.

"We can take my Corvette!" He beamed as he exited the house half expecting it to be parked some place nearby. "Where is my Corvette?"

"Ah, yeah…about that."

* * *

Hannibal knew Face would be upset about his ride, but the colonel couldn't help but smile as the kid paced back and forth before the wrecked Corvette, assessing the damage, and working out how much Clydesdale owed him for the repairs it needed. Despite the bruises, the aches and the obvious fatigue, the lieutenant was once again the Faceman they all knew and loved. It occurred to Hannibal that he wasn't the only one smiling, both B.A and Murdock had grins firmly in place as Face continued to complain about the state of his precious car.

"The paintwork's ruined; the windscreen is… no more! And the bumper and bonnet are a write off!"

"Look on the bright side," Hannibal said as he removed his cigar. "B.A managed to get her running again."

"You did?" Face turned to the team's mechanic with a hopeful expression.

"Course I did, man. Who do you think you're talking to?"

"Sorry, sorry B.A, I'm just not used to seeing my baby in this state." Face sighed as he looked down at the Corvette. "Why'd they have to go and trash my car, she never hurt any body…"

"They used her to lay a false trail." Hannibal explained.

"Yeah, they ran her into a ditch not to far from the McGregor's yard." Murdock added as he hopped down from the stool he had been sat on and joined Face who had managed to pull the drivers side door off. As Face whined some more, the captain took the door from his friends hand and put it back against the wall for B.A to fix later. "I think Clydesdale was trying to pin your disappearance on them."

"Why not," Face said with a sigh. "He blamed them for everything else. Everything he told us back in LA wasn't necessarily a lie, he just painted the truth so he was the victim and the McGregor's were the scum."

"That much I already figured out, but why?" Hannibal asked, wishing Face would get to the point of their gathering. So far since his arrival at the team's safe house, all the lieutenant had managed to do was cry over the Corvette.

"He wants their land." Face proceeded to pull out the map he had brought along with him. "You sent me ahead to do some digging. Well I dug and I struck gold. Literally." He placed the map on the large work table for them all to see. "Around fifty years ago the McGregor's land was owned by a family called Swanson, consisting of Ma', Pa' and daughter Emily. Emily Swanson later married Marshal McGregor and inherited the land not knowing, that the day before her father 'died' he staked a claim. He found gold right here, but for some reason didn't tell his wife or daughter about the find, so it's sat there all this time, claimed but untapped." Face indicated the area on the map.

"I'm guessing by the way you said 'died' you think he was killed."

"It's a little difficult to prove granted, but you have to admit the timing was suspicious."

"I'll say." Hannibal took a draw from his cigar as he looked down at the map another question coming to mind. "How did Clydesdale know about the claim in the first place?"

"About a year ago, Clydesdale tried to stake his own claim when he found a partial vein. He's very influential around here, I figured he used that influence to discover most of the deposit was on the McGregor land and decided he could have it all, if he could get McGregor to sell."

"But McGregor refused."

"So he resorts to greater and greater extremes to try and drive him and the family away." Face sat on a nearby stood, his right hand nursing his left side briefly and Hannibal shook his head.

"It was a dumb move kid, confronting a man like Clydesdale alone." Hannibal met the lieutenants' gaze seeing the kid shrug, accepting the chastising.

"I could have handled it better, I'll admit."

"You should have waited for us. We're a team."

"I know." Face looked at each of them with a sigh. "And I'm sorry, but can we do this later? We gotta help Andy and her family, if we don't bring the law to Clydesdale, even if the McGregor's cash in their claim to that gold, they might not live long enough to enjoy it."

"And if we help them, we might have stakes on some of that gold, maybe even a pretty young doctor?" They all knew Face well, affluence and the company of a beautiful woman always appealed to him.

"They saved my life, Hannibal. It's that simple." Face added the clarification but it wasn't needed. Despite the kids appetites for the finer things in life and the way he so often procured them, Face was a good man. The colonel nodded and chewing on his cigar still, he crossed to stand before the lieutenant.

"I have a plan."

"Don't you always." Face smiled.

"You up for waving red at the bull, kid?"

"If the bulls Clydesdale, you bet."

* * *

The plan was simple, but carried with it a certain amount of risk. After getting changed into something more his style, a freshly laundered suit, shirt and matching tie, Face headed back to the Clydesdale lumber yard.

It was eerie walking right back into the lions den, even with Hannibal beside him the lieutenant couldn't help but feel a little disorientation as the Déjà vu hit him once again. But instead of warm fuzzy memories, he was almost over come with the urge to leave and run for the hills. Just days ago he had came here with the intension of handing back the cheque that had secured their employment with Clydesdale, but he ended up almost eating a bullet. Clydesdale had been prepared to kill him to protect his interests, and Face knew that wouldn't have changed. He had to pull off the most convincing con of his life, while his confidence was at an all time low.

The colonel noticed the brief moment of apprehension as they headed up the steps towards the main office building, and Face was brought to a halt before he could step inside.

"Are you sure you're up to this, lieutenant?" Hannibal was all business, but the underlying concern in his voice was there too.

"Yeah, yeah of course," The con had started already, but Face had never truly been able to work his particular charms on Hannibal. The colonel always managed to see through him, though this time the older man seemed content to play along. "I feel a little offended you felt you had to ask." He sighed and quickly knocked on the door before he could talk himself out of it.

Hannibal stepped inside first, followed by Face who done his best to remain in the back ground while the colonel paved the way. Hannibal was a talented actor, able to deliver a line as convincingly as Face, the only difference between the two was their styles. While Hannibal played a character and followed, to an extent, pre-determined lines and responses, Face had to constantly think on his feet, and be prepared at all times for a change in flow or direction. He didn't always lead however; his art came from influencing the mark, and having them do just as much of the foot work.

"Good news, Mr Clydesdale," Hannibal declared happily around the cigar in his mouth, not that the snooty businessman seemed very interested since he hadn't looked up from his computer. Removing the cigar and undeterred, Hannibal elaborated. "We found our missing guy." Clydesdale looked up then, not expecting to see the 'missing guy' stood there. Face just smiled in that charming way as Clydesdale's eyes widened. "Face, allow me to introduce our client, Mr Luther Clydesdale."

"How could I forget?" Face stepped forward, extending his hand to shake that of the bewildered mans. Clydesdale was just how Face remembered him. He was heavily built, with blond hair and dressed in a dark brown suit. Right on cue, Hannibal laughed.

"Well, it's nice to see your sense of humour is still intact, kid."

"I might have lost a good portion of my memory, colonel, but memory has nothing to do with the kind of person you are deep down."

"I guess so," Hannibal went right back to chewing on that cigar, big smile in place.

"You…you lost your memory?" Clydesdale asked some what nervously and Face was starting to remember just how much he enjoyed his work. It was satisfying watching the guy who had shot him, squirm.

"Unfortunately, yes." Face made a point to touch the white gauze on his head, knowing Clydesdale could fill in the blanks for himself. "It's not total amnesia though. I still remember a lot. Like last Christmas when Hannibal's aunt Margaret sent that box of cookies she made with salt, instead of sugar?"

"That was a surprise." Hannibal said as he played along.

"And being shot," he deliberately paused, his blue eyes meeting Clydesdale. In that moment the threat was delivered and the sleeze ball heard it loud and clear. "Back in Nam. You and B.A had to pull me out."

"That's right." Hannibal nodded, removing the cigar once again so he could be clearly heard. "He took one to the leg while we were on a routine scouting mission. It was tough because, you hardly ever saw Charlie coming. The first you knew he was there was when one of your guys went down following the crack of gunfire."

"Hurt like hell." Face added, standing before Clydesdale smiling confidently.

"But we got the guy." Hannibal grinned, patting the lieutenants' shoulder affectionately as he crossed back towards the door. "I'm very protective of my team. When you serve with the same men for over ten years, that's a bond not to be messed with."

"Colonel, I didn't know you cared."

"Of course I care, lieutenant. Which is why, just as soon as everything is ready, B.A Murdock and myself will be heading over to the McGregor yard and giving them what for." Hannibal turned to look once more at Clydesdale who was looking more confused than ever. "Mr Clydesdale, our work will be completed by tonight. Now I've got lots to be getting on with, so Face here will go over all of the final, financial arrangements."

"Financial…?"

"What you owe us for our services." Face clarified and placed his briefcase on the table in front of Clydesdale, waiting till Hannibal left the room before he popped the clasps open. As soon as the door had closed again, Clydesdale was reaching for a piece in a drawer, but Face had already aimed and primed his own pistol before Clydesdale had even got the drawer open. "Now that, would be a very bad idea, Mr Clydesdale."

"All I have to do is scream and they'll be ten guys in here." Clydesdale warned, clearly uncomfortable with a gun turned on him. Face just shrugged.

"You do that and my team will gun you all down."

"I don't believe you, you're not killers." Clydesdale was starting to sweat, clearly not a bluffing man.

"We've lived through war, Mr Clydesdale. One of the things you're asked to do in a war, is take a life." Face rummaged through his case and dropped a number of papers before his captive. "But luckily for you, I've had enough of that life and I want out." Clydesdale looked down at the map which marked where the gold deposit lay. "Now, the way I see it, you need the McGregor's out so you can buy that land up and stake your own claim to the gold, otherwise you have to settle for a very small portion of that vein. I'm willing to help you accomplish that, for a price of course." Face positioned himself so he was now sat on the table, his pistol still aimed at Clydesdale who just watched the lieutenant with something of a sceptical eye.

"There's always a price, but why the sudden change of heart?" Face remained silent, not entirely sure what Clydesdale meant by that. While he had most of his memory back, the day of the initial attack was still a blur. "I mean, I put this to you on the day you came to me with the evidence, but you were so high and mighty, refusing me, making me look like an idiot." Clydesdale stood and walked to a small cabinet that held his scotch and a few glasses.

"Well let's just say, being shot in the head has a way of, changing a guys mind. I plan to make that the last bullet I ever have to dodge."

"It could have saved you all this trouble if you had just agreed to begin with." With two glasses of scotch now poured the blond man returned to his desk and set one glass down for Face while sipping from his own. "It's lucky you're so fast on those feet of yours. I don't usually miss."

"Well, we live and learn." As a show of faith, Face placed his pistol back in the holster and picked up the offered drink.

"You're acting like; I'm willing to be that generous again." Clydesdale grinned, forgetting it seemed that he was over a barrel.

"Oh well if that's really how you feel," Face put the glass back down. "I can see my… memory fully returning. I'm sure Hannibal would be interested to know just who it was who really tried to kill his friend. Trust me, the colonel's like a dog with a bone and he won't stop till you're six feet under."

"Alright!" Clydesdale relented as Face headed for the door. "How much?"

"Twenty percent and enough for a new car." He drove that later point sternly, still angry about his poor Corvette.

"Twenty percent!?"

"You're right, let's make it twenty-five."

"No, no, twenty is fine."

"I thought as much." Face gave his best glare and was about to leave, after all they had the confession they needed to hand over to the authorities, all that was left now was to wrap them up and tie on a pretty bow.

"Just a second. There's something you can do for me first." This was unexpected and Face could almost hear Hannibal cursing their luck. "I'm not a big fan of, handshakes you see. I like my business partners to show just how committed they are."

"Is that a fact?" Face didn't like where this was going. He should have just refused and left but he ran the risk of breaking his cover and putting himself in danger yet again. He'd been the cause of enough trouble; he had to handle this right. Face took hold of his pistol once more as Clydesdale got on the phone, calling ahead to some of his associates. "No funny business, Mr Clydesdale." He warned.

"Relax, we've got a deal remember." He went back to speaking through the phone. "Yeah, get her ready."

Face felt a pit open up in his stomach not understanding completely what was happening but he just knew this was nothing good, and something even Hannibal hadn't accounted for.

* * *

It had been hard to leave the kid in there, knowing just how bad it could end up and Face might not be so lucky the second time around, but it needed to be done if they were to get the confession. Hannibal joined B.A in the van and they were quickly speeding away, using the back roads and trails to get to the back of the yard, away from the work crews. They were now at the back of the office, Hannibal having listened in to the conversation going on inside the entire time.

It was just as they parked up that Clydesdale finally admitted his involvement in the trouble the McGregor's had been having, not to mention the assault on Face.

"Fraud, blackmail and attempted murder," Hannibal said as he smiled across at B.A. "That'll get Mr Clydesdale a room with a nice, barred view."

"Right on," B.A seldom smiled but this was one of those times he found a reason too.

The conversation in the office continued and Hannibal was getting his weapon ready as Face made his move to leave but was halted by a rather unusual request.

_"…get her ready." _Clydesdale's voice came in clear over the wire that Face wore and right away the colonel felt that something was very wrong. They paused from exiting the van, knowing some how that if they moved now they would miss the information they needed, information vital for being able to bring the an end safely for all involved. Face was playing it just as cautiously, going along with Clydesdale's request that he follow.

"Murdock, something's wrong. Have you got eyes on Face?" Hannibal asked over the radio. The captain had placed himself at a hidden vantage point close to the lieutenant and could jump out to assist if anything went wrong. While it hadn't gone wrong yet, it was definitely not going to plan, and the colonel needed a report on the situation if he was to amend his plan to account for these uncertainties.

_"I have colonel, he's just left the office with Clydesdale and they're making their way to the storage shed on the east side. Over."_

"Stay close, we have an unknown player in the game."

_"Another three goofballs have just followed our guy into the shed, colonel. That's four bogies on our Face, please advise, over."_

"Hold position, but be ready with the tissue."

* * *

The storage shed was one of the bigger ones in the yard, usually reserved for storing the saws and the other tools the lumber jacks used for their trade. There were also bags of seeds and compost, ready for planting to replace the produce they cut down. As Face entered the place he again felt that strange sensation of Déjà vu and couldn't stop the feeling of anxiety that rose up in his throat. With every minute spent around Clydesdale and his goons, more and more of his memory of that day returned, and he was starting to feel a little disorientated.

He also felt too exposed, and his pistol done little to reassure him that he would be fine. With four against one, the odds were against him but he had faith that Hannibal, B.A and Murdock were slowly moving into a position to help.

"You look a little pale there, pal." Clydesdale said with a cocky smile, as if he knew bringing Face back to the room he was originally shot would knock him off his stride. He was right.

"Just a headache. Now what exactly did you bring me here for?" He made a point of aiming his pistol at Clydesdale, again to remind him who was in charge here. As far as he could tell each of the goons were armed, if Clydesdale was he hid it well.

"For her." Clydesdale indicated ahead but what ever surprise the guy had in store was obscured by one of the crates.

"You must think I'm pretty stupid if you think I'm turning my back on you guys."

"I'm sorry, I meant no disrespect." Clydesdale smiled and ushered one of his men forward to bring this person of interest into light. The second the woman was shoved to his feet, Face felt that pit in his stomach widen and almost swallow him whole. Andy had been held against her will, and while her hands were now free, the ropes had cut into her slender wrists painfully. She squeaked through the gag in her mouth as she scampered back into one of the crates, looking around fright in here eyes.

If Face had been finding it hard to stay calm and in character before, it got a whole lot tougher in that instant.

"Why is Dr McGregor here?" He demanded, hoping there was enough distain in his voice and hoping Hannibal got that marvellous brain of his working on a solution quick smart.

"John?!" Andy mumbled the name she had given him around the gag still in her mouth and Face had to think fast.

"She knows you?" Clydesdale asked, eyes darkening in suspicion.

"That's not my name." Face explained but was cut off by Andy as she screamed at him angrily.

"We helped you!"

This was breaking his heart but he had to keep it together, he had to keep the con alive or they were both dead. Without a moments hesitation he knelt by the woman and grabbed her by the jaw, leaning in close with a sly smile.

"You helped a phantom, an idea of a man you thought you could love. I'm not 'John', never was. I remember who I am. I lie and I cheat and I steal, did you honestly think that made me a good person?"

"I trusted you…" She whispered, tears rolling down her cheeks and Face had to fight very hard to hide his real emotions. He took a risk now, as he leaned in closer placing his lips close to her ear so he could warn her. He had to be careful to tell her when she could hear through her sobs, but also make it look like he was a complete slime ball as he groped her by the waist.

"Trust me a little longer, Andy, please." Face pulled away, no idea if she heard his plea or not and his wandering hand was brought to a halt when her hand slapped right across his face. His head snapped to the side in shock.

"You son-of-a-bitch!" Andy screamed as Face stood, nursing the cheek that had a crisp, red hand print visible upon it. He met her eyes, trying to see if she understood or not, but he couldn't tell.

"You've certainly got a way with the ladies, pal." One of the goons quipped and Face just shook his head, ignoring him and looking to the boss.

"Please tell me you want her dead."

"That's exactly what I want." Clydesdale stood back, as if he expected Face to shoot her there and then. The lieutenant laughed. The idiot was making this too easy. "What's so funny!?"

"The fact that you want me, to blow this woman away, here! On your property, in your storage shed. Do you even know about forensic evidence and how little of it they need to put someone away?" Face shook his head with another chuckle. "But what am I saying, of course you don't, or you wouldn't have tried to kill me in here too."

"Why would they even come looking in here in the first place?" Clydesdale was so delightfully dumb, Face thought.

"For a start when she goes missing and the police ask her father if they have any enemies, who do you think he's going to tell them about?"

"Me…"

"Then they've got probable cause, are issued a warrant and search your entire yard." Face smiled. "Now, you've got a whole lot of land out there. I say, we march her off into the woods, shoot her there and let the critters do away with any evidence." He paused, letting Clydesdale come to his own decision; if he pushed him too quickly for an answer all of his work could become undone. They needed Andy outside for anything to go down; the last thing any of them wanted was for Andy to take a hit during the crossfire, and in the confines of the shed, that could happen too easily.

"I like the way you think."

"I knew you would." Face holstered his pistol and turned back to Andy while goon one and goon two opened the door. Clydesdale and goon three were waiting for their guests to walk ahead, so Face slowly helped Andy to her feet, trying very hard to stay in character. She struggled against him a little too convincingly, and Face considered that perhaps she hadn't understood his plea a minute ago. Still he continued to play the part as they stepped back out into the light of day. As soon as all six of them had cleared the shed, that's when Face grabbed Andy and shoved her towards the cover of a few dozen stacked logs.

"Hey!" Clydesdale called out and Face could almost hear each of the goons reaching for their pieces, but it was the sound of semi-automatic fire that filled the air and caused the creeps to scatter before they could open fire.

Andy was clearly frightened and the sounds of gunfire done little to calm her already frayed nerves. Face held her, feeling her shaking and all he wanted to do was apologise but right now, he needed to back up his team.

"Andy! Look at me." Face ordered as he untied the cloth from the back of her head, so she could be finally free of the gag. It was tied so tightly and her beautiful hair was matted up in the knot. "Stay down, out of sight. Once I tell you to run, you make for the gate, call the police." She nodded at his instructions once her mouth was free. Face cupped her cheek and looked her right in the eyes. "You're getting out of here, believe me." She nodded again and closed her eyes, fresh tears running down her face.

With a deep breath, the lieutenant peered around the huge trunks of the harvest trees, and aimed his pistol at one of the goons who had managed to pin Murdock down. A few well placed bullets at the guys feet had him on the run, and looking for more suitable cover, but as he ran, Murdock was able to return fire from his position on a shed roof. The goon fell holding his left leg, his weapon tumbling out of reach, not that the injured man had any intension of firing back.

Face took Andy by the hand and ran her to fresh cover while Murdock once again laid down suppressing fire. By now Face could hear the familiar screeching as the team van came charging through the fence from the north side of the yard. None of the goons expected reinforcements to come from that direction, and the surprise was enough to distract them. Two of Clydesdales men returned fire at the van and Hannibal who was firing from the comfort of Face's usual seat. The lieutenant smiled as B.A expertly steered the van so the back end sling-shot round, and knocked the two gun-toting imbeciles off their feet. They went down like dominos, unconscious from the impact, clearing the way for Hannibal to exit and start to press their advantage home on Clydesdale, who had been backed into a corner.

"Ok Andy, go." Face ordered since during the fire fight he had managed to get her a clear run to the gate.

"John I-"

"Call me Templeton." He said gently and placed a tender kiss on her fore-head. "Go, now." He urged her on, and it was with some reluctance that she finally done as he asked, and made a bee-line for freedom. He watched her get clear before rushing back to help with the last of the clean up, some how running right into Clydesdale who was running to escape Hannibal.

The business man reacted on instinct, throwing a punch straight into Face's gut and right away the pain from his already bruised chest flared up with the impact. It was now, the memory of his acquisition of that injury returned. Clydesdale was a big guy compared to the much sleeker lieutenant, and his blows were comparable to that of B.A. It had only taken a few well placed blows to Face's midsection before the bones started to weaken…

The memory of the attack, as well as the pain of the current one, caused more disorientation, but Face wasn't about to roll over and give in. This time it was just Clydesdale, and this time the lieutenant was able to fight back.

The training Face had undergone in the army had been ingrained into every fibre of his being, and while he so often preferred not to fight, that didn't mean he couldn't hold his own. Guys like Clydesdale who were twice his size, were often surprised by the effectiveness of one of Face's punches, because it wasn't the power of the blow, it was area of impact that mattered most. But first he had to defend himself from the onslaught of Clydesdale, which wasn't going to be difficult. The sleeze had honed in on Face's injury, and every punch he threw was directed there, so it was easy for Face to dodge and block before staggering Clydesdale with two successive blows to the centre of the chest. The impact had the desired effect, Clydesdale started to almost choke, unable to breathe in and Face, slighty winded still smiled as the look of terror and confusion filled the other mans eyes.

Shocked and winded, but Clydesdale was far from down. As the large, blond brute lunged forward again, aiming again for Face's vulnerable left side, the lieutenant side stepped gracefully and launched two more blows into the lower left side of Clydesdale's back. The pain radiating out into the body of his victim was amplified by two more blows into the same area, and finally Clydesdale was down, rolling in some pain as he struggled to shake off the terror that gripped him.

Face glared down at the man, his own breathing ragged and pained but he was no where near the condition of Clydesdale. Knowing the bastard wouldn't give up, even when beaten, the lieutenant finished the job with a kick to the mans face, robbing Clydesdale of consciousness, and allowing Face to finally relax.

With a weary sigh, followed by a wince, Face turned to head back to the rest of his team, who had rounded up the goons and had paused to watch their friend exact his revenge. Hannibal gave him a customary thumbs-up, while Murdock and B.A applauded. Face might have taken a bow, if he was sure he wouldn't topple over.

* * *

It had been two days since the fight at the Clydesdale lumber yard and it was still the main news story. While the McGregor's done their best to limit any mention of involvement from the renegade unit, known only as the A-Team, it wasn't long before one reporter had put all the pieces together and was now informing America.

Andy switched off the TV and turned to face the rest of the room with a sigh.

"Sorry guys, honestly none of us told the reporters a thing." She assured and Face shrugged, his hands still in the pockets of his black leather jacket. He paused though as he realised (and not for the first time in those last few days) that Murdock was stood right behind him, looking at his backside. The lieutenant shuffled further from his strange friend and joined Andy on the sofa; putting his arm comfortably around her while Hannibal spoke.

"Don't worry, Andy. We've known a few reporters in our time and their ability to sniff out a story is strong."

"I guess this means you'll be leaving then?" Daniel asked, he and his brother Jack looking just as disappointed by the news report. Mr McGregor was stood shaking his head.

"I'm afraid so." Hannibal confirmed their fears and Face had to admit part of him was a little reluctant to leave. "Now that Face is fit enough to travel, we'll be heading back to LA."

"Fit to travel yes, he's not to go beating heads together for another week at least." Andy admonished Hannibal seeing the colonel smile and nod.

"You have my word; the lieutenant will do nothing but rest for at least a week. But we really need to get going guys, it won't take Decker long to act on this news report."

Face stood from the sofa, feeling the slightest twinge from his chest, but was assisted by Andy as they headed outside. Mr McGregor was busy shaking the team hands, as was Daniel and Jack, and Face had to admit this was one of the hardest goodbyes he'd ever had to do. These people had saved his life and opened up their home to him, those few days he'd lived amongst them, had been some of the most blissful he could remember. For the first time in over ten years, he knew what it was to lead a normal life, a taste of what it might be like, to not be on the run…

The amnesia might have gone, but as Face held Andy in his arms one last time, and shared a brief tender kiss, he was beginning to understand the lasting effects.

John Doe had been a lucky man. And he wished he could be that man again.


End file.
